DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) Page 25

  The man is insatiable, not that I’m complaining. But I can’t say I’m that into having my sleep disturbed just after falling back to sleep after a midnight feeding that seemed to take hours.

  My daughter is spoiled. I’m honest enough to admit that and even honest enough to admit that she’s driving me crazy at night when she won’t go back to sleep and wants to play, something her dad taught her but leaves to me in the wee hours.

  Deciding to get some sleep while I still can, I collapse onto the bed and clear my mind of everything, even the infernal headache that won’t stop pounding at my eyeballs and close my eyes with a yawn.

  The nightmare comes as I expected it to, and I feel my heart start racing when it happens in a different order. This time I’m walking down a corridor, squinting into the darkness, trying to find my way to the stairs.

  The place is so dark that I stumble and stub my toe against the wall before righting myself and feeling my way along it. There’s a muted light ahead, and I slowly make my way toward it, wincing at the slowness of my gait.

  I’ve separated myself from Molly because I feel bad about leaving Cam in that state, and even worse for not telling him the whole truth, that I want more with him because I think I’m already halfway in love with him and it hurts that he won’t share anything with me but his body. And that’s only when he’s completely in control.

  I’m distracted, admittedly, because I keep thinking about how exactly I’m going to make my silly ultimatum up to him. The light gets brighter, and I see the stairs come into view, sighing in relief, because though I will never admit it out loud, I freaking hate the dark as much as I hate spiders, snakes, and any other creepy crawly thing in existence.

  “Oh, Cameron. We’re going to have to do much better if we’re going to be good parents and partners.” I sigh, peeking over the railing on the landing to make sure Millie is nowhere in sight before creeping to the stairs.

  It’s just as I’m about to grasp the wooden railing that I hear the pitter patter of soft footfalls and feel the hands on my back. I gasp and twist, my hand shooting out, reaching for the railing in a panic of twisted limbs and consuming fear.

  But I don’t reach it. No, my body is already toppling, my feet slipping, finding nothing but air. I’m falling, screaming, silently begging God to please save me.

  No, I’m begging him to save my baby. He can take me, please God take me, just spare my baby!

  And that’s when I see the face of my attacker.

  The wind is knocked right out of me, my screams dying, only this time it’s shock and horror more than the fear I feel. Because I am broken at the realization.

  I wake with a gut-chilling scream that echoes off the walls even as my heart races, threatening to beat a hole straight through my chest. Nausea bubbles up, and somehow I find the strength to make it off the bed and into the bathroom, my knees buckling as I hit the toilet and start retching so hard I feel my stomach scream out in protest.

  I puke long and hard, crying between heaves, retching some more when I close my eyes to see that face above me.

  “Ducky? Ducky!”

  I hear the bedroom door hit the wall before pounding footsteps beat my way. The bathroom door flies open, hitting the tiles with a clap so loud it sounds like a gunshot that makes me jump before sending me into another round of useless heaving.

  “Shaw? Baby? I thought I heard you scream.”

  A cold glass hits my lips, and I rinse my mouth before leaning back into a strong, broad chest and let the cool washcloth soothe the pounding behind my eyelids.

  I feel so bereft right now that I can’t stop the sobbing and tears from coming. I need to rage and break things, but I’m so weak that all I can do is turn into Cameron’s strength and cry out my anguish against his broad shoulders.

  “Baby, baby, ssh, it’s alright baby. Whatever it is, it will be all right. I swear it,” he croons, stroking a hand through my wild, sweating mane.

  “No, Cam. Oh God.”

  “Yes. You just tell me what it is, and I swear, I swear I’ll fix it. I can fix it, I swear,” he keeps saying, his big body strung so tight that it takes me a moment to realize he’s shaking even as his arms band around me convulsively.

  “Cam.”

  He silences me with a kiss, cutting off my protests and sealing his mouth over mine. I struggle a bit, embarrassed because my mouth doesn’t taste that great, and I’m sure I got some puke in my hair before I could flick it out of the way. He ignores me though, kissing me till the very last shudders and sobs have died down.

  He kisses me till I kiss him back and burrow deeper into the solid warmth of him, my face pressed to his neck, my nose picking up the woodsy smell of whatever aftershave he’s now using.

  “Cam?”

  “Ssh, just wait till your tummy’s settled, baby. Here. Drink some more water. You’re losing too many fluids; you need to go see the doctor. I’ll make an appointment for this afternoon. Mum and Dad can keep Angelica while I take you. Do you have a headache again?”

  “Cam.” I try again, hugging him deeper, but he doesn’t hear me over his own ramblings.

  Poor man, he gets beside himself at these times, especially when I cry and goes off on tangents, even making lists as if he thinks that will in any way help the situation.

  “Cam!”

  “Baby, I know you feel ill, and I think you should consider the real possibility that you’re—”

  “Cameron! I know who pushed me!”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Shaw

  I’m still shaking wildly even as I shout the words so loudly that they ricochet off the walls and echo, the sound filling the suddenly tense silence.

  I feel Cameron go still and hard beneath me, his muscular arms banding around me in an unyielding grip that threatens to wring the air from my lungs.

  I feel him tremble and do the only thing I can to soothe him. I pull back as much as I can and kiss him again, this time slowly, infusing the melding of our mouths with as much comfort as I can, considering the state I’m in.

  It’s not every day you remember your would be murderer…

  “Ducky? I am so sorry.”

  “Sorry? What for? Cameron did you hear what I just said? I remember who pushed me!”

  “Your memory has returned—”

  Why does that seem to upset him so? Doesn’t he want me to remember everything? Who wouldn’t want their fiancée to remember their epic love story? You need to tell him.

  But how? Oh dear God. Things are still very fuzzy in my head, and I can’t remember everything, not half as much as I need to, but I remember that face and the name that goes with it and—and that’s it, almost as if my mind doesn’t want to know the rest.

  “My memory hasn’t returned, Cam. I just saw the guy’s face and a name came up. For some reason that I am not aware of, it upset me a lot. Do…do you have a brother I don’t know about?”

  He tenses again, his thighs going rock hard beneath my ass before he lunges up and lifts us both in one stroke that leaves me breathless. The utter strength…

  “Speak. Tell me.”

  “I keep having these nightmares about falling. This last one was a lot more detailed and…and I looked up just as I was going down. I saw…Robert. Why would your brother push me Cameron?” I ask, gasping when his arms loosen and drop me to the bed in a sprawling heap.

  And then he steps away from the bed, from me, as if I’m another life form, and oh God, the way he’s looking at me tells me one thing clearly, he doesn’t believe me and he’s pissed.

  “Is this a fucking joke?” he yells so loudly I gasp and scuttle back into the headboard. “I should have known that you were playing me again! You never had amnesia did you? This has all just been one big fucking play from the get-go. Jesus, and to think I…. Have you been playing us all this whole time?”

  My lips tremble when he starts pacing quickly, his shoulders so tense it looks like he’s growing muscle right then. The worst part,
he looks ready to strangle me, literally, and I can’t understand why.

  I love him, like a lot, but it seems he doesn’t feel the same way despite the idyllic time we’ve had together. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe…God, I can’t think! My head is starting to pound, and I am truly terrified when Cameron stalks closer to the bed and leans in, his face a mask of spitting fury.

  “You will keep your mouth shut. Understand? I won’t have whatever you’re trying to do upset Mum and Dad. As far as they’re concerned, your memory is gone and you’re their sweet daughter-in-law. Keep it that way, or I swear to everything that is holy, I will fucking kill you.”

  That is so…I swallow and nod, confused but needing him to back away before I do something really stupid like cry or beg him to believe me. I can’t understand any of this and the harder I try, the worse this fucking headache gets.

  And he’s scaring me, which up until a minute ago I would never have thought possible.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on, Cameron. Why don’t you—?”

  “You will do as I say from now on, for everything, or I will have your brother’s life ruined. He’ll be a fucking fry cook, scraping grease from the grill for the rest of his life if you even so much as whisper another word about Rob. Understand?” he hisses into my face, one hand spearing through my hair and pulling me so close I feel the heat of his curled lips a breath away from mine.

  “Answer me, Shaw.”

  “I-I understand?”

  “Good. Now go clean yourself up and get to the car. We have an appointment with the doctor.”

  I sit there, trembling against the bed for long minutes after he leaves, my heart and mind warring against each other. Something, some tiny little spark deep inside is raging against the hurt I feel, screaming at me to button up and not show him weakness.

  On autopilot, I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom and clean myself up, scowling at the red-rimmed, ragged look of my eyes and the fear I can’t seem to shake reflected there.

  One good thing about having a gimp brain? I have a clean slate which means that my analytic noggin starts looking at things from every angle possible to try to figure out what the eff is going on.

  First, Cameron does not like the thought of me recovering my memory. At least he didn’t like the thought. Now he thinks I’ve always had it and that I’ve been fooling everyone.

  God, why would he even think that? And doesn’t that suggest that he doesn’t trust me? If so, I see a lot of shaky ground and all out badness for those fairy tale fantasies I’ve been dream weaving.

  Second, Robert pushed me and Cameron refuses to believe it. I don’t remember the guy, but the fact that I knew him and felt so heartrendingly sad and horrified tells me I do know him.

  Third, something funky is going on and I need to find out what that is. I can’t ask Cameron since he seems to be a step away from offing me and dumping my remains, so I’m going to have to find someone who’ll talk to me about this shit.

  Molly is out since Kent won’t even let me call her. Margery and Victor are off limits since I really don’t want to end up dead and my circle of friends is not exactly bursting at the seams right now.

  But I need to know; I have to try to remember.

  “Hurry up would you.”

  I spin around to see my…Cameron towering over me and step back reflexively, my heartrate doubling at the blank, cold expression in his eyes.

  “I…Angel—”

  “Mum already has her. Come Shaw. We have a pregnancy test to get out of the way before I let myself go and actually throttle you.”

  Pregnancy…?

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Shaw

  Oh God. For the first time in my life, or since I’d lost almost two years and some odd months’ worth of memory, I’m hoping so hard for a negative that I can feel my bones almost calcifying the longer I sit statue-like, trying to ignore the raging asshat beside me.

  Let me just say, a car ride with someone this pissed is not the most comfortable of events, especially when I’m trying not to look at him. Or hyperventilate. Or pee my pants.

  “Another pregnancy scam.”

  He keeps muttering those same words over and over again, casting me murderous looks that leave me feeling like my skin’s being stripped raw. The kicker? I don’t understand one fucking word the guy is saying, and yet, every time he says it, he looks at me thunderously, waiting for me to reply.

  All I can do is nod. Which I’ve done about a dozen times. Or a hundred. He keeps getting more upset with every nod to the point that I finally roll my eyes and start shaking my head.

  Seems to piss him off more, and I cringe, but for some reason, now that I’ve caught a spark of outrage I’m enjoying the view. Every time he grinds his teeth I feel some small measurement of victory.

  “Well, folks, it seems that the almost impossible has occurred. You’re pregnant again Miss Mallory. Congratulations!” the doctor crows, smiling at us both, as if he didn’t just drop the Hiroshima fucking bomb all over my already messed up life.

  At any other time, like say an hour ago, I would be walking on freaking sunshine! Now? Now I get the distinct feeling that Cameron is not too happy, and that he’s going to make me suffer for this.

  “Er, thanks Doc. Uh, where’s the bathroom?”

  When I get there, scampering quickly because Mr. Dark-looks is on my tail like freaking lichen, I give in to the need to start shaking up an earthquake.

  I need answers. I need out. I need to know what the fuck is going on so I can get out of Dodge.

  “Think, Shaw. You’re engaged to a man who is obviously not as in love with you as you wanted to believe.”

  I snort and check my appearance in the mirror, taking in the sickly pallor and the hollows under my eyes. I look like a freaking zombie, and I feel about as attractive and aware as one, but something keeps niggling at me. Cameron knew I was pregnant before this, and I know that he’s been nailing me like a madman for weeks. I have the vaginal bruising to prove it.

  Did he purposefully get me pregnant?

  My noodle brain is leaning way over to the positive side of things, so I have to assume that whatever problem he’s having with me now did not exist before I told him about his brother.

  So what I really need to do is find out about that guy before I proceed to smother my man in his sleep and get packing. As the thought forms, I hit on something that I haven’t thought about in weeks.

  There is one person in this world I trust more than anybody or anything, and I’d bet money on it that he knows more about what’s been going on than I do.

  With that issue resolved and my mind once more settled, I leave the restroom feeling…hopeful.

  Cameron is there waiting, and I only wince slightly when he clamps a hand over my upper arm and steers me out of the building and to his Jag. The pressure is lighter than the grip he’d used to drag me inside, so I can only assume he’s holding back now that he knows I’m pregnant.

  “Seat belt!” he barks, glaring at me until I buckle up before starting the car and accelerating slowly.

  Ice. I may as well be sitting outside in the midst of a Siberian winter snowstorm for all the heat I feel in the car, and yet, I’ve decided to ignore him while I figure out the best way to call Alec without tipping my hand too early.

  Chances are he won’t be able to tell me much, but as I’ve now found after Molly spoke to me, I might remember more if I had a little something for my brain cells to chew on.

  “So, I take it you’re not too thrilled at the prospect of another baby.”

  Don’t gasp or go all horrified. I’m an amnesiac; I haven’t lost all of my faculties, and right now, I clearly recall having a temper. It’s starting to rear its ugly head since I’m feeling alone and hurt.

  Really, who blames the woman for this shit every time?! I clearly remember being on the receiving end of his rants all those nights he’d decided to go jizz inside me, and it’s not like he didn’t know where th
at would lead.

  We already have one freaking baby!

  “I was delighted…before I realized that you have once again played me and mine for fools,” he says with a growl, gripping the wheel so tight I hear his knuckles pop. “Why though? I just can’t figure it out. It’s not like you needed to get another baby into the mix to secure your future, it’s already set.”

  I snort and keep my lips sealed, ignoring his glacial looks. Duh! Can he be anymore idiotic? I did not set out to get myself impregnated. I already have one baby, who is a handful by the way, and I’m still serving up breakfast, lunch, and dinner from my chest! Like I need to be fat and tired on top of raising the first!

  “No matter. I’ve resigned myself to a lifetime spent with your scheming, duplicitous hide so I may as well just give in and have the six I want.”

  Six! What the fu—

  “You know what? I was sitting here wondering what the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden, maybe thinking that I inadvertently said something to anger you, something I don’t remember by the way, but I think…you may be the problem here, Cameron. Are you like, bipolar or something?”

  Shut up, now!

  He’s hands are full on white by the time we reach the wrought iron gates of home, and I’m so uncomfortable I’m practically hanging onto the door handle and waiting for him to slow down before trying to make my escape.

  He hasn’t said anything, and I’m just…should it hurt this much to know that I’ve been living in a freaking lie bubble for the last few months? Somehow I don’t think the person I was when I got shoved down the stairs would be this meek and docile in the face of Cameron’s anger.

  Unfortunately, I also suspect that this love I feel is not as old and comfy as I’d fooled myself into believing. This scares me because I’d been so ready to accept what he told me in that hospital, so easy to trust, that I haven’t even considered that there is a reason that Molly had started telling me about the night of the treasure hunt.

  I don’t know much right now, save for two very important things. Cameron does not love, trust, or even like me much—despite the act he’s been putting on. And someone shoved me down those stairs.